


sun kissed saturdays

by gelatte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love, M/M, Neck Kissing, Past Child Abuse, Pet Names, Saturday Mornings, Sleepy Kisses, Tiny bit of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29545353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelatte/pseuds/gelatte
Summary: It’s amazing, how Saturdays have come to be Harry’s favourite day of the week.It’s Draco, who makes the difference.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 109





	sun kissed saturdays

**Author's Note:**

> hello, it’s been a while since I’ve written something in full like this, so excuse inconsistencies.
> 
> this is a stupid piece I tried to write really quickly and is... completely unbeta’d. We die on this hill.
> 
> as always, I do not own harry potter, if I did... would I really be writing scenarios like this?
> 
> enjoy!

Golden rays filtered through the window to the side of Harry’s bed. He smiles as he lets the warm comfort of a new day envelop him whole. He shifts to lay on his side, taking in the milky white expanse of Draco Malfoy’s back. Draco’s moved in the night, to the other side of the bed he so rightfully claims is his. The duvet barely draped over his modesty and Harry drunk in the sight of a jutting hip bone, up the base of his spine and all the light freckles dusted his skin, up, and up each knob of his spine, coming to rest his eyes on a head of mussed platinum hair. He watched the way each soft breath Draco took drew his shoulders up, the way he mumbled something incoherent while shifting, the duvet slipped off his beautifully defined hip a little more, teasing the peek of his tail bone.

Harry bit his lip as a warm throb of want wormed around his heart and squeezed.

Saturday mornings, he thinks, are my favourite time of the week.

They didn’t always use to be, of course; there was a time, long ago when Harry despised Saturday mornings. They reminded him of Aunt Petunia’s loud, shrill voice shaking him awake and the sound of a fist pounding against his cupboard’s wooden door, Uncle Vernon’s prune red face and scathing comments; Dudley’s loud whines of complaint where Harry purposefully charred his bacon. Once upon a time, Saturdays were the devil’s day, the days when he had endless chores, days when his hands were rubbed raw from garden work, knees bruised from kneeling on the floor, scrubbing away as the Dursley’s went out to the beach, to the park, or on a shopping trip. The days when he felt battered and wrung out from a long day's work, going to sleep with a gnawing ache in his stomach from not eating, only to rinse and repeat the next day. Harry used to hate the weekends.

But now, as a Draco shaped body slept a couple of heartbeats away from Harry, he thinks that Saturdays are definitely his favourite time of the week— The stress of the previous days slowly slid off his shoulders, left to rest on the floor for another looming Monday. Harry rolled closer to Draco, hands itching to smooth over Draco’s usually cooler skin. It was weird, he thought, just how much he and Draco contrasted, yet slotted so well together, like two puzzle pieces that were inevitably the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle; his warmer sun kissed skin against Draco’s cream white; dark, inky wild hair contrasted against Draco’s silky, star kissed locks. How Draco’s long, pale, smooth fingers slid easily against his shorter, calloused ones; the way their bodies fit together perfectly— silver, starlit eyes against his own forest evergreen ones. 

They had always been two sides of a coin, through youth, war and love, and Harry would never have it any other way.

A soft snore brought Harry out of his reverie and smiled. Draco was forever bemoaning the fact that _No, scarhead, I do not snore!_ Harry found it awfully endearing just how expressive he was in his sleep, always shuffling, squeezing and muttering incoherent sentences that Harry’s tried to decipher on numerous occasions when he lies there, unable to sleep, watching Draco. He was utterly besotted with his boyfriend and had no reserves in showing Draco just how much he loves him.

His fingers gently feathered over the elegant angles of Draco’s shoulders as he slid his hand down Draco’s side watching the way the other man shivered involuntarily at his light touch. Harry admired his smooth skin as he let his hand curl around Draco’s hip as he curled close against Draco’s back. Harry placed a gentle kiss on the bony knob at the base of his nape and tucked his nose into the crook of Draco’s neck, pressing soft kisses into the juncture. Harry delights at the soft gentle noises Draco made as he peppered kisses over his shoulder, up his neck, tongue brushing over the area just under his ear, a gentle nip to his earlobe. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into Draco’s hip, smoothing up, and down his thigh.

Harry felt Draco shift against his chest, a cooler hand came to lay on top his own, threading their fingers together in such a careless show of intimacy and Harry’s heart leapt to his throat in the affection he felt for Draco. He swallows the lump of emotion that squeezed his throat and buried his face into the juncture of Draco’s neck once again, and pressed another kiss to his neck, murmuring a soft “Morning,”

A smile tilted his lips when Draco grunted in reply, untangling their fingers before pushing himself away from Harry and rolled over to face him.Eyes still closed, Draco’s hand blindly searched for Harry’s and Harry automatically threaded their fingers, once again relishing in the way they fit together so flawlessly. Draco made a small sound of contentment.

Harry breath is stolen away, again, like every morning when they wake up together, at the sheer gorgeousness of his lover: Sharp aristocratic cheekbones, a single beauty mark that sat high, just under his right eye; a pointed, long elegant nose, chin pointed and sculpted by the Gods themselves; his hair messy and curled, framing his face. Draco always looked like a perfectly painted portrait, even in the early hours of the morning where sleep still claims their souls. It’s unfair, Harry thinks, just how _good_ someone could look, still rough and crusted from sleep.

The sun melted onto Draco’s form, making his skin and hair _glow_ and Merlin, Harry thinks for the umpteenth time that day already, _He is gorgeous_. Harry twisted their hands, coming to hold Draco’s gently, and brushed his thumb over his knuckles. 

Draco’s eyes fluttered open slowly, his relaxed face scrunched at the sunlight blinding him and flung his free arm over his face, muttering soft profanities. “We,” he started, voice roughed from sleep, “Really need to invest in some blinds.”

Laughing, Harry gripped Draco’s fingers and tugged him close, wrapping an arm around his waist. Their chests flushed together and Draco easily curled his form against Harry’s, well practiced from all the nights they’ve spent together and slotted his face into Harry’s collarbone, pressing a kiss to the jutting bone. Harry, in turn, pressed a gentle kiss to Draco’s hair, “Yeah, we do.”

He felt Draco’s hand, squashed between their chests, trail up his torso, gently teasing up, and up his shoulders before snaking around his neck, fingers coming to curl perfectly against his jaw. Draco’s tilted his head up, molten silver eyes met his own emerald green, and smiled a smile that Harry rarely sees except during these quiet moments they spend together, lazing around in bed during the weekends. It’s a small, little thing, thin pink lips quirked ever so slightly, genuine and filled with vulnerability that made fireworks explode in Harry’s chest. 

And like every time: “Good morning, my beloved.”

There— that little name Draco seems to not to stop calling him, that makes Harry melt into a goopy pile of love and affection. _My beloved, my Harry, my beloved Harry_ , Draco’s voice echoed in Harry’s mind and he felt dizzy from the overwhelming pulse of adoration surging through his veins. His cheeks heated as Draco’s snickers tickled his ears; brushing his long fingers along Harry’s jaw, and tucked a stray strand of black hair behind his ear.

His fingers nervously danced against the skin on Draco’s back, tracing aimless shapes and words, “You gotta stop calling me that,” He doesn’t mean it.

“Never.” Draco chimed, eyes dancing with a familiar mischief that gently shouts _I’m up to something!_ “My darling, my love, my dear—“

Harry comes to cradle Draco’s neck and shuts him up with a gentle kiss. “You’re insufferable, you know that,”

Draco’s stupidly happy grin solidifies his likeness to Saturdays. The days and weekends which he once found anger and bitterness in, now scraped back to the bare bone, overlayed and coated in a layer of thick honey of happiness. Of love and adoration. Saturdays that no longer start in musty darkness, or with shrill voices, dark looks and complaints. Saturdays that start off, mostly with a ray of golden sunlight, peeking through the window— Melting onto the form of his love, his life. Saturdays start with warm, long kisses, and promises of joy and laughter. Saturdays promised a man with platinum hair, silver eyes and fond smirks.

“You love it,” said Draco, fingers brushing over his cheek.

“You know I do,” Harry replied.

Yes, Saturdays indeed promised hopeful beginnings to the end of the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you think, or come yell at me on twitter (@drarrycore)
> 
> thank you so much for reading <3


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